What's Left Of Me
by takentekken
Summary: Derek was the bold one, the one who plunged ahead with ambition and confidence. Stiles had been the wreck; emotional, confused and unsure when he set out for college. How is it that Derek became the miserable one, pining after what he can't have? College AU. Derek/Stiles, Derek/Kate, Scott/Allison
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Hollow

Derek lay naked next to his beautiful girlfriend.

As he stroked her back, he contemplated the best day to break up with her. Valentine's Day was coming up on Tuesday. Breaking up with her on Sunday would crush her, he was working Monday and breaking up on Valentine's Day was the dickest move to ever exist. There had to be a buffer of a week or so, or else she'd think he was waiting until Valentine's Day was over, which he was, but that would make things worse on her.

Girls always say they want to hear the truth when it happens—the moment where the magic is lost. They don't. No one does. The truth hurts them more than it does him. Kate hadn't done anything wrong. There were no problems in their relationship—if anything, she was the most understanding and thoughtful one he'd had in a while. He wished there was a problem. Wished she was selfish or that they fought, but he never cared enough to get angry or jealous. Either she was too polite or didn't have any grievances for him in return.

He'd be thrilled if she'd suddenly break up with him; to hear a girlfriend say she was tired of him after a single fuck. Even if the feeling wasn't mutual, he could relate.

As if she could read his mind, she turned and looked at him with those hazy brown eyes and smiled like he was the only thing left in the world. What a euphoric vision she was with her dark hair framing her face and that quiet upturn of her lips. He smiled back and let her pull him into a kiss, let her roll onto him, and let the rest of the night pass in a carnal haze.

Tuesday went worse than he thought it would. He'd gotten Kate some chocolate out of obligation, but he knew she had an obsession with some dumb werewolf movie, so he got her the stuffed wolf as a small addition. That was a mistake.

She saw it and her face lit up and she brought him in for an excited kiss.

"I love you!" she exclaimed.

Kate was flustered and blushed with a kind of heavy embarrassment that only came from people who said and meant that phrase for the first time. Since he'd forgotten to break up with her over winter break and found it more manageable to text or call, they'd technically been dating four months. When she was looking to him with doe-eyed nervous anticipation, he knew what she wanted him to do. What he was expected to say.

Derek chuckled and distract her with another kiss, hoping that'd be enough of an excuse for him not to say it back. The hell was wrong with him?

He went out with her and the rest of the friend group to a local college bar. He got drunk enough to consider standing up and walking out; maybe into the street to see if he got hit, or just downtown until he got too tired to take another step. The girls left early to go to a play, and Kate took the opportunity to stroke his hair and kiss him a loving farewell. She tasted like the cheap liquor.

"Damn, I wish I was the one who could have asked her first! You're damn lucky, Derek!" Ronald, their group loudmouth, snapped once they were out the door. Despite his puffed chest, Ronald would have never asked Kate to go anywhere, and that infuriated Derek about him.

"I wish I could find my soul mate. I guess for now, I'll keep Terrie. But there was this blonde chick the other night at Chrissy's party…." started Mark. Derek needed another drink if he was going to listen to Mark go into some dumbass story that was more than likely a lie. Somewhere between his group's banter and the shots, he found himself counting the seconds ticking by on the old analog clock so intensely that the bartender below it thought he was eyeing her up.

He got another free drink out of that, and plenty of comments from the guys.

"Kate's got some real competition."

"How is it that you manage to get all the attention?"

"Can I tell Kate the news, maybe she'll go for me?"

Derek knew he was handsome by most people's standards. He'd have to thank his friend, Stiles, for teaching him how to dress and hold himself so that he didn't come off as a _complete_ fuck boy, but what he was born with didn't hurt either. Natural dark eyes and hair, and an angular jaw managed to give the impression that he was the mysterious type. Derek never had a reason to own that persona until he came to college, where "mysterious" translated into being observant until he wanted something, then striking after it.

"That reminds me of this one time with this Colombian chick back in…."

Derek started eyeing up the street again, listening to the ticking of the clock and falling into a lazy meditation until someone would finally call a break-up to their meeting. He walked home too sober to think he hadn't wasted his entire night. What else was he going to do with it?

The buffer came and went and Derek broke up with Kate on leap day, which became an unanticipated black mark. He'd wanted to do it sooner so that she wouldn't hold off any plans she might have in anticipation that he'd invite her three states away to his home in New York over spring break. Turns out, she'd bought both of them tickets early and made a point of throwing them at his face a couple days after the breakup. He almost laughed at her flare for drama until he saw the price tag.

 _Just another week_ , he reminded himself. Another week and he'd be free of this.

Not that going home was of any excitement to him. In fact, he was just planning to stop in, wave to his dad and sistersister and then pack his stuff to drive to Beacon Hills as fast as possible.

Before that, of course, he had to deal with the "divorce." Kate and he shared a friend group, hung out with them every day, making the new situation a potentially straining one. Kate was the emotional kind; bent on not being friends at the end of a relationship. Derek knew that going in. Part of him admitted that's why he asked her in the first place.

He made the choice for the group easy and stopped hanging around them. Nothing was lost from the split besides a few free beers on Friday.

It was eerie how easy it was to be alone.

He was packing for spring break when Kate came to his door. Apparently, she'd been texting him and he'd been ignoring her. He wasn't interested in fixing anything, explaining anything, or even telling her he wasn't interested. Cutting all ties with her was preferable to him, but she wasn't having it.

She banged on his door and called until he opened. She demanded the train tickets back—but that obviously wasn't why she was here. They were digital and she could cancel them if she wanted. He offered to pay and she said she wanted the tickets. She slipped into his apartment and the conversation quickly went from the train to "What went wrong? Please. I have to know."

Derek didn't have an answer, but she refused to leave. His train—or any train—left at eight in the morning. He had to hold out for twelve hours.

She wanted to know what was really going on.

"Kate, I don't know what to tell you. It didn't work out. That's that," he said, tossing the last of his shirts into the suitcase. Kate stood with her arms crossed at the doorway of his bedroom, fuming in anger.

"That's that? I ask you why and you can't give me a reason? Derek," she sighed. Her eyes fixed on his suitcase. While Derek was fishing for a fresh pair of socks, he heard clothes shifting. Kate was digging through his bag. "Kate, what are you doing?"

Kate paused in her search and shifted her hip to be set against the bag in a way that made her skirt ride up at the hem. She knew what she was doing. "What's the _real_ problem? I won't let you close me out, okay? You always do this and you can do it to the guys and to our friends, but you can't do it to me. Derek, what's wrong? You haven't been cheating have you?"

"Woah, no!" Derek snapped. The damn thought that he would ever—"Kate, I don't…no."

"You're withdrawn. I don't see you as often, and now this out of _nowhere_! I'm not stupid!" she said, digging back into the bag. From there, she pulled out a small newspaper-wrapped box with a string attached. "What's this?"

Derek sighed and took Kate by the shoulders to steady her. "Kate, that's for my sister. Her birthday was last month," he lied. She flushed redder than before, her pointed nose scrunching in embarrassment. Her forehead fell into his chest and he could feel her start to cry as her shoulders shook in his arms. "Kate," he decided to go the more honest route as he drew his hands to her chin to tilt her eyes up, "It's not you, it never was you. Okay? There was never anyone else, and you're great, but…."

"Is this because I said I loved you too early? You know I don't expect you to love me back all at once," she probed, unsatisfied with his answer.

"That's not it," he said. Why couldn't she let it die?

"Listen, I know it might be new for you, but it doesn't change anything. Just because your sister…." She faded to a whimper and he knew she was reacting to him. His face had gone tight and his jaw set, he couldn't help it. He really wished he never told her any of that. "You have to talk to me."

He had to talk to _someone_ , maybe, but not Kate. She seemed to think she had passage into him that no one else did, but he didn't hold anything close to a key to his heart. All the masses she discounted were the people she was unknowingly apart of. But, how could he tell her that when he'd been handed her heart and a road where she told him things she'd never told anyone before? "Nothing happened," he said, drawing another dissatisfied scowl from her red lips.

"You wouldn't hurt me like this. You can't do that kind of thing," she said with a kind of knowing finality that he wanted to prove wrong the minute the words left her lips.

He brought her lips to his and pulled her into a carnal kiss giving her all the grief and rage that didn't exist but she expected. As she melted into him and clutched his hair, he could only think of how tasteless she was. She licked into his mouth and pulled desperately at his clothes. She drove him further back into the bed.

He went through the motions, of course. Kate was still cute and skilled with her mouth. He didn't have any problem getting it up; though plenty of other exchangeable faces came to mind when he was grinding into her through her silken dress.

Hot, slick and passionless. That's how he could surmise every instant of that night, down to the climax. Yet, Kate nuzzled against him and whispered those three words again, panting in satisfaction.

Kate slept in his bed while he packed, showered and wrote a quick note. He took the valuable shit more than clothes, and didn't think of the consequences of leaving for the train without waking her. He didn't want to talk. Yet another in a series of open, dickish moves he was willing to make. Anything she did to his apartment in rage was preferable to the "that was a stupid fight" conversation that would inevitably happen if he stayed.

He bought his own last-minute ticket for the train and called it about even though it wasn't.

Besides a passing nod to his neighboring passenger, Derek got to close his eyes and watch the suburbs and inner-cities in a washed haze. About three hours into his ride, he got the text.

 _Kate: We need to talk._

"No, we don't," Derek tried lying to himself. He set his forehead deeper into the window watching the texts and calls from Kate pile up. Yeah, he'd made the problem a lot worse, and all it did was give him the only real emotion he could get out of this relationship, heavy anxiety and regret. Her efforts died down in a half-hour. Another hour later, he got texts from people in the friend group.

None of them got him mad until Ronald, because, of course, Ronald.

 _Ronald: Jackass, you have to call her back! She's been crying in our apartment for an hour! What kind of boyfriend are you?_

Not an ounce of bullshit compensation coming from that guy, no. Derek wasn't sure why he kept checking his texts. Then, the answer came. His phone blinked alive with a new text.

 _Stiles: Train kill you yet?_

Derek couldn't help but smile, a raw levity sinking into him, cutting away the rest of this overdone drama.

 _Derek: Not yet. What's up?_

 _Stiles: Near Cali yet?_

 _Derek: Yeah._

 _Stiles: I'm at the station. Dumbass boyfriend bought a bus ticket. So, if you haven't passed Union yet… I'm stuck here for another hour, at best._

Derek chuckled. He could picture Stiles right now, dying of boredom in that beat-up car. It only made sense to take the guy up on his offer. Derek wasn't planning on staying home for longer than it took to get his car-keys anyway. He didn't want to go back home to a litany of questions. His sister had found out about Kate through Derek's slip-up and knew she wanted to come down for spring break. His phone still rang out with irrelevant text messages from everyone at the campus and Derek…just…couldn't take it.

When Union Station was announced, Derek slung his bag over his shoulder and followed the line out the train and to the parking lot. He didn't want to think about Kate buzzing in his pocket. He didn't want to think about what a mess he'd left behind. Any memory of going home—any memory of the past four months—could be blotched away and he would be thankful. Why stop there? He'd exchange the past two years, all his time in college, maybe just one more day back before everything slipped from his grasp, before it all faded to a numbed gray.

It took half a second to notice Stiles' dented Camry hiding in the corner of the parking lot. For the first time in months, Derek wouldn't deny he was feeling his heart race in real excitement. He made sure to hide his childish smile before he was close enough to be in Stiles' view. Blaring headlights splashed color into his steps as he helped himself to the front seat.

"Hey, loser," Stiles said when Derek opened the door. He took off his reading glasses and tossed his book to the backseat, clearing out his backpack and some empty water bottles from the passenger's seat to make room for Derek.

"Stiles, you have so much crap in this place," Derek teased, kicking aside a soda can, "New guy cure you of OCD?"

"I blame D2," he sighed, gesturing to a sport's bag thrown behind him. A faint blush appeared at the top of his cheeks when his gaze skimmed over the backseat. "But, yeah, Isaac may _also_ factor into the equation."

 _Isaac Lahey…of all people?_ Derek still couldn't get over it. They'd gone to high school together, but Derek only remembered him being well-meaning but annoying. If he thought hard about it, it sort of made sense. Both Lahey and Stiles were obnoxiously defiant people when they wanted to be.

"He sounds more fun than you. I'm not sitting in the backseat, if I'm right," Derek said, settling his feet on the dash.

Stiles flushed and let out a nervous chuckle. "I'm not even gonna...I mean...Yeah, no point in trying. Uh...Fair warning, he's a little dramatic and more…uh…gay than me?"

"What, is there a percentage system I should know about?" Derek quirked a brow.

Stiles paused to find the right word. " _Flamboyant._ "

"Oh…OH…oh shit! Has your dad met him yet?" Derek frowned.

"Not yet," Stiles said, releasing a deep, practiced breath. He turned and smiled at Derek with a genuine gratitude in those light puppy eyes. "I'm glad you decided to take the detour. I was sort of freaking out in the car and, I thought I was gonna throw up. Is that too much information? It feels like it. I mean, I'm just glad I get to talk to more than the radio about _that incoming situation_. Can't exactly tell Isaac to stop being Isaac when he meets my dad so...yeah."

Mr. Stilinski was a nice guy overall, and a loving dad, but he was one of those strict old-fashioned types who associated being gay with being a twink. When he learned about Stiles, he wasn't angry, just uncomfortable and concerned. Basic math means that Stiles learned to keep all boyfriends on the down low to avoid the subject. Still, Stiles compensated a lot for something that didn't really exist when it came to his dad.

Stiles wasn't willowy nor imposingly tall, and put no pitched flair in his voice. He was smaller than Derek by a longshot, but was still toned from taking up lacrosse late in high school. He made a point to keep his brown hair neat, his face clean shaven, and to never wear shorts in winter. After that, though, no one ever thought he was gay until he was introducing them to his boyfriend—

Or, in Derek's case, confessing his crush to you in sophomore year. Derek was a textbook description of straight-white-male, and he was dating a girl at the time. It goes without saying, the confession made an awkward situation. It was the kind of thing that killed relationships, especially in high school. Stiles' prefers to forget about it, and still thinks of it as a humiliating dent in their friendship. But, for Derek it was kind of the opposite.

Stiles used to be one of those kids he was okay friends with, but it was neither here nor there, _until_ that confession. Stiles moved on from the rejection after a month, started talking to him again after two, and Derek came out of the entire weird phase of their friendship admiring him for it. It took guts to admit you liked someone when you knew rejection was the only possibility. That's what he liked about Stiles, unlike Ronald or Kate, there wasn't any bullshit or denial. He dealt the truth and he took the truth just as well.

Of course, they'd known each other since middle-school and they mostly had a friendship built on competition, insults, and sarcasm, but _that_ one night in sophomore year was always Derek's defining moment with Stiles. Stiles' prefers to forget about it, and still thinks of it as a humiliating dent in their friendship. The moment he knew the guy was worth sticking around for.

"So, how's things with Kate?" Stiles asked.

Derek groaned in reflex. "How do you know about her?"

"Your sister called me up to see what she could force out of me. They say she's your first college girlfriend?"

"First one they knew about," Derek said. "Broke it off with her already."

"She's the first one _I_ knew about," Stiles said in a kind of tone that wasn't exactly at ease. Derek couldn't decipher what it was. A kind of nonchalant hurt? This was sort of a hang-up on the gay thing. They didn't talk about girls often. Though Stiles had no problem with it, Derek felt like it was a one-sided conversation. Stiles was pretty brief with boyfriend updates, but wasn't withholding anything either. They were friends after all. Still, there was some stuff Derek didn't tell him. _Couldn't_ tell _anyone_.

"They didn't last long enough to mention," Derek said.

"Well aren't you the classic man-whore?" he teased. "What? You go through a girl a week?"

"It's only been three girls total," Derek lied. It had been, maybe, been one a month (if he discounted one-night stands). He hadn't felt too much regret or care about that until Stiles was the one asking. He was quick to turn his attention to the radio. "Anyway, what's this acid rap you're playing? Don't you have anything good?"

"Hey, don't turn off A$AP for some ACDC bullshit again!"

"ACDC is great!"

"Yeah, and so are the five songs you play over-and-over. Expand your damn horizons."

"I'll do it with songs that don't sound like dirges."

Though he protested, Derek was still smiling through the new playlist of weird indie songs Stiles had dug up over the semester. Stiles kept pitching one artist after another in-between his rants about college, work, and life in general. Derek would insult a couple of tracks but never made a motion to change anything. This is what Derek would trade two years for. One night sitting in this old dented car with his best friend and little more than a care in the world.

 **a/n: Drop a review if ya like or if you don't like. It happens. This is gonna get...intense. And Quick early catch-up. AU where no werewolf powers. Derek and Stiles are same-ish age. Derek 21, Stiles 20. College-ish AU.**


	2. Chapter 2

Isaac was a little too built up by Stiles. All that time in the parking lot, Derek was bracing for pride, a boa scarf and Channel cologne. He caught a glimpse of a square-jawed teenager with a gym bag thrown over his shoulder in gray sweater and jeans and thought he was going to the car next to theirs. When the new guy did walk to their car, he gave Stiles a chase kiss and jumped in the back without hesitation. That was Isaac. Incredibly normal Isaac.

Conversation was pretty normal, "Hey" "Nice to meet you, Derek." "How'd you meet?" "High School, kind of, but you were there weren't you?" Niceties. Niceties. "Lacrosse. I had to keep him company on the bench for a couple weeks." Stiles humiliated but laughing and glad to be poked fun at. "What do you do Derek? Where do you go? Cool. Cool." Isaac's voice as a little higher in pitch and he had a few mannerisms that could give or take be found on any guy straight or otherwise. Normal guy.

If Stiles honestly thought Isaac was a show case of haughty male sexuality, then a nun could do the same for all women. Then, Derek put it together. It had nothing to do with Isaac.

Stiles was a little flighty and tended to panic until a situation was dealt with. Until then, every detail could ruin him—and it used to ruin him. The crippling detail here was casualness. All starting with a kiss in public. Derek frowned, realizing some of that unneeded stress was settling back in on his friend over nothing.

When they got to Stilinski house, Noah was sitting on the living room couch reading a newspaper. He peaked over with mild interest until he saw Derek walk through the door. He stood from the chair and smiled, bringing Derek into a bear hug, "Damnit boy, you're getting bigger every year. Good to see you again. Stiles, why didn't you tell me you were bringing him home?"

Derek nodded, always a little awkward with open-armed greetings. "Last minute thing, Dad," Stiles said, slipping into the door with an obvious nervous bounce in his step. Derek wished he could catch him by the shoulder and hold him still. "Uh…Dad, this is Isaac," Stiles said, when his boyfriend walked through the door.

"Nice to meet you, Sir," Isaac said, extending his hand.

Noah went a little ridged for a second, but it wouldn't be something Isaac would catch. Derek was looking for it and he knew Stiles would be to. But, it passed like a shallow breath and Noah smiled and shook Isaac's hand.

"The Lahey boy, aren't you?" Mr. Stilinski's voice clipped and drew out in an awkward pause. "I got to know your brother, he was a good kid too. Alright, well, uh…go on boys. I'm gonna finish this and head on to bed."

Stiles couldn't be happier to rush Isaac up the stairs. Derek followed in suit, but the night was already late and he took the couch about an hour later. The moment he lay his head on the pillow, he got texts from Kate. Phone off. Brain off.

At seven in the morning, Stiles' dad was up so Derek was up. He checked his phone and there were too may texts to even be displayed on the screen, just the number 82 next to "New Messages." Half of that had to be a group chat. He prayed. Derek needed to clear his head. From his sports bag he found a set of sweats and sneakers and changed in the downstairs bathroom.

"Didn't mean to wake you up, son," Mr. Stilinski said over his morning cup of coffee. Something about Stile's dad in the sheriff's uniform always made Derek go rigid, as if every conversation could be an interrogation.

"I was already up," Derek lied.

"Should have told me you were taking the couch. There's sheets in the broom closet you can throw over it for tomorrow. If you're staying that long." The hint of uncertainty at the end of his words came from concern, not annoyance, but it make Derek uneasy all the same.

"Uh…right, sorry Mr. Stilinski. I was hoping I could spend the week here," Derek admitted. Dropping in unannounced was a pet peeve that infuriated his sister and him, but he was familiar with the Stilinski open-door-absent-parent policy. Derek ignored the whimpering instinct that told him to say more and explain himself to the sheriff.

"I don't see a problem with it. If Lahey's staying all week, no reason you can't," he said.

Derek felt compelled to say something. "I knew him in high school. He's a good guy."

"I know that," the Sheriff dismissed with a stiffer tone than before. "Careful on the roads in the morning."

Beacon Hills hadn't changed much in a year. A café closed on a corner street and a few houses were remodeled, but it was as navigable as before. Same shops, same houses, same people. The thought was pleasant until he passed the empty park. He spotted a playground his older sister took him to as kids, and the unpleasant feeling of being trapped in time while he aged crept up on him. Twelve grades here, two years of college, and he was still running down this same road, with not much improvement to show for it.

Running helped to keep that from sinking in, as did a shower. The week passed the way a regular routine with Stiles might go. With Lahey, Derek felt like he was third wheeling and made sure to go out on his own now and then to give the two of them time to hang out. Besides, he needed a couple minutes in the park's fresh air to respond the increasing headaches that were Kate's texts.

When Stiles told Derek about a party on Friday, he couldn't be happier to have something mind-numbing to look forward to.

Stiles wasn't always more sociable than Derek. In fact, he could make the argument the both of them were terrible at it. Neither of them sought out friends, but in high school everyone sought out Derek. The difference now was that Stiles had this habit of "keeping" whoever he stumbled upon. Derek didn't really have anyone in Beacon Hills he ever felt the need to see again; so, going to a party with a couple familiar faces from his class that he considered decent acquaintances was both a relief and uncomfortable.

The party was at Scott McCall's house, from the lacrosse team in high school. Derek never talked with him, but he knew people that knew him—Stiles being the primary example. It was a usual basement style party, but not as loud and obnoxious as a severely packed one. Twenty people max were down here, and that was fine by Derek.

Then, Stiles plucked a guy out from the crowd when he got into the basement. "Derek!" Stiles said. He was pulling another one of these. Stiles liked to treat Derek like a pet dog sometimes and set him next to someone he thought he would make fast friends with and then zip off. What's another term for _abject torture_ that Derek could use to let Stiles understand the general sensation of these moments. "I want you to meet my best friend, Scott. Scott, this is Derek, he went to high school with us."

 _Best friend._ Derek ignored the irrational deflation in his chest at hearing that and made nice like Stiles wanted. Scott was a fairly handsome guy with his arm looped around a beautiful girl that seemed miles out of his league in Derek's own opinion—laced with heavy bias. Somewhere in between the conversations about the old high school days and discussions of sports teams, her name came up. _Allison._ Name seemed familiar, but Derek wasn't going to remember it in a few minutes.

Derek needed another drink when the conversation turned to the dead-end of majors and future plans no one had. Casual conversation never went past that line. "Yeah I do this..." "That means I..." "Yeah, I like it. It's great." Derek was not in the mood for Scott after a half hour.

Beer. He was in the mood for beer. But, Vodka was better. Couple drinks later, Derek was feeling absolutely better. He was standing at an island bar, feeling up some pretty brunette's leg, laughing with her. A few cute whispers and coy looks and he gets the picture. Why not have another one night stand? He'd broken up with Kate. What better way to prove it than to sleep with some girl who looked somewhat like her? Then, Kate would have a reason to be mad at him, would accept that they broke up, and he could go back to being alone. Alone was less complicated.

To start with, he prodded his idea, moving his hand lower, rubbing circles into her thigh. She giggled and looked behind her, as if expecting to find something before sighing and leaning on the bar. "Hey," she said.

"Hey."

He closed the distance between them, and from the way she kissed, he could tell they were both hungry for it. A few sweet words, and she'd be going home with him, wherever that was. He hadn't thought that far. For now, making out was his plan. Everything afterwards would fall into place. What was her name again?

 _Allison._ Pinged into his head. Derek stopped then, going rigid and feeling his chest go tight. Scott's girlfriend. An ironically sobering awareness of just how drunk the two of them must have been caught up with him. Yet, her hands were still around his neck, coming through the short strands of his hair, nuzzling her nose against him as she waited. A strict line of caution tape suddenly crossed over Allison as a whole. _Off limits. Off FUCKING limits._

But, Derek had never actually been the other guy. Nor had to deal with an other. A creeping part of him wondered what that would be like. Was it any more rewarding when you knew your partner for the night was risking their steady, love-filled, candy-coated relationship for you? Was it rewarding to know you were worth that risk? Derek could still taste her on his lips, and what had been bland and rudimentary suddenly turned enticing and mysterious. _Off limits._ She has a boyfriend. Scott. Remember Scott. The nice guy. Stiles' best friend…right.

Fuck it. He felt like breaking something today.

Now, his heart was racing. Most people had moved out from the bar to a patio in the warm air to sit by a campfire, but anyone could walk in on them. Any of the friends that would recognize Allison in an instant and be caught in the most awkward situation of the night. Coating the stale beer on her tongue was fire and risk and the heavily seductive promise of a reward. His hand dipped lower and Allison's breath hitched.

"Derek?"

What the hell was he doing? Derek drew away instantly, and slipped away from Allison's grasp. He wondered if Scott would punch him. Maybe that'd be worth something. Instead, there was a nervous laugh from the door, one Derek could distinctly recognize as Stiles'. Now, a sense of consequence dropped like lead in Derek's stomach. A look alone from Stiles froze Derek in place.

"Hey, Allison," Stiles' voice cracked.

"Jesus!" Allison hid her face in her hands, the reality of the situation seeming to hit her as well.

"Yeah, I could use him too right about now," Stiles nodded, running a hand through his hair. He took a breath, and grabbed Derek by the arm. Not so subtly, he tugged him out of the basement, and up the stairs. "This is…eh…mmnn…Okay. Hey, Derek, could I talk to you for a second, up here?"

Derek sat on a couch because the brighter light made his eyes strain and he could feel exhaustion twisting in him with instant regret. Derek was expecting some mild shrieking and the amusement of Stiles being baffled for a few minutes, muttering incomprehensive nothings. Instead, he pointed a commanding finger at Derek and said in a voice that mirrored the sheriff's, "Stay there."

Derek almost felt like a dog as he watched Stiles slip back into the basement door. He could hear a girl's voice talking with Stiles, make out some vague curses among the low whispers. Part of Derek wanted to go down and see what all the whispering was for, and the other part knew exactly what it was for and wasn't going to move from the damn seat he'd been condemned to. More than anything, he wanted to lie down and vomit—and punch something. Something of his, though. _Shit._ He didn't own anything here.

He caught the tail-end of Stiles' voice as he climbed up the stairs. He sounded like he'd been repeating himself. "I don't know, Allison. You're both fucking gone. Just lie down. I'm just…not right now. Later, okay?"

Stiles was back at the door, glaring down at Derek. "How drunk are you?" Stiles asked the minute the basement door was closed.

Derek shrugged. "I'm not twelve."

"Great," Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair again. Somehow, his clipped tone was worse than calling him an ass or punching him would have been. "And, we're leaving."

Stiles lead Derek out to the car, one hand on his hoodie as if he'd stumble to the ground. Derek wasn't that drunk. Hell, maybe Stiles was holding him so he wouldn't run away. What was Derek going to do? Burst back into that party, and jump on Allison again? The thought made Derek want to vomit again, for different reasons. _Shit._ That was all he could think as he walked into the car. Every quiet step. _Shit. Shit. Shit._

Derek slipped into the passenger's seat, his eyes heavy from the alcohol, but the new guilt twisting in him not merciful enough to let him ignore it. Stile slammed the door shut and hissed out a deep breath of air, his fingers braced against the wheel. It was almost like Derek had cheated on his girl…or…whatever. _What was he so angry for?_

"Are you shitting me right now?" Stiles said.

Derek realized he'd said his thoughts outload. Derek bit his tongue and turned to the window.

"Hey!" Stiles slammed the car to a stop. Derek hadn't noticed they were moving. But, here they were, parked in the middle of some backroad. "That was not okay. That was…Derek, you met her. You met Scott and Alison _together_! How did you even…." Stiles trailed off. Derek tensed when he thought Stiles had given up. The air was so empty. Come on. Stiles could talk to a wall. He could lecture Derek for a car ride. That was the only thing making this night bearable.

"Sorry," Derek muttered.

"Yeah, I'm not the one who needs to hear that. Shit, there's no way this isn't gonna blow up. And Scott was just starting to patch things up with Allison. He's gonna be…I mean…she has to tell him right? Because, if she doesn't tell him, you're sure as hell not going to have to tell him so then I'm going to have to tell him. Oh dear god, let me not be the one to have to tell him. He's gonna be—"

"—We just made out, Stiles," Derek said, realizing he hated Stile's griping about this more than just silence. "It's not a big deal."

"What?" Stiles hissed.

Derek paused. _Shut up. Shut up. Shut up._ "It's not like I slept with her."

"You know what, just go to sleep. I'll talk to you when you're sober."

 _I'm pretty sober now_ , Derek thought. He kept that to himself.

Derek dosed off enough to forget the car ride home, but he opened his eyes the minute they arrived. The car shifted to a halt and Stiles slammed the car door. Just as Derek was sitting up, Stiles opened the passenger's side door.

"You can walk, right?" Stiles asked.

Derek huffed and climbed out of the car, not dignifying that with an answer. He could already feel the hangover that was going to be pounding against his head tomorrow as they walked into the living room. Derek wasn't sure what to do.

Stiles didn't make any move into the kitchen or upstairs to his bedroom. As Derek sat on the couch and unlaced his sneakers, he could feel Stiles' eyes on him. "I'm not gonna vomit on your couch," Derek muttered. "I'm fine now."

Instead of a quip or some level of familiar sarcasm, Stiles' quiet footsteps were left to fill the dead air. Stiles pushed the coffee table back with his foot and sat at the edge to face Derek. "So, what cat shit in your toaster this week?"

"What?" Derek frowned.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Stiles said, averting his eyes like he always does when he's nervous. But, he steels himself and makes a point to look directly at Derek, "But, you're never exactly the most bubbly of people, but there's like a spectrum for you between grumpy and complete douche. All week you've kind of been hanging in the middle, going off on your own, doing your impressive cool-guy loner thing. I know half of that was giving me and Isaac space, but the other half…that's you. And that thing with Allison. You're not drunk enough to be a moron. Something's up."

Derek shrugged, "Don't know what you're talking about."

"God, you're a jackass sometimes," Stiles said.

"How about it's none of your business?" Derek snapped.

Stiles nodded in a way that showed he wasn't going to give this up. "Yeah. I'm a jackass too."

Derek glowered. Not because he wanted to scare Stiles away. Not because he had nothing to say. He had a lot to say. He had everything to say. A hundred thousand words that were refusing to spill out of his mouth and work towards something productive. He glowered because that's the only thing he knew how to do.

A large part of him wanted to tell Stiles about Kate. Explaining Kate would mean explaining his friends at college. Which would mean explaining college. Which would mean explaining home. Which would mean explaining everything and Derek was not one for sharing. Derek was the one that was supposed to have his shit together constantly. This conversation should be reversed.

Stiles was always the one freaking out, making a big deal out of nothing. Wallowing in pointless fears of the world, anxious and stressed like a fucking hairless cat. Now, he was happy, well put together, and finally enjoying his life and Derek had to tell himself to feel happy for his best friend. What kind of a monster isn't happy for that? Stiles had a life. A real fucking life now.

He wasn't afraid anymore. He had some damn self-worth back and had made his own friends and even got himself a boyfriend that made him happy. Derek should be happy for him.

Back in high school, Derek was worried about leaving him on his own. _Stiles_ had been worried. He applied to three shit schools because he was convinced he'd get into no others. Two weeks in, he was calling Derek too many times a day, rambling for hours about taking a year off, switching schools, or just quitting. Derek had been so annoyed by all his needless worries. He'd been the once to convince Stiles to stick with it. College wasn't a big deal, but Derek was worried Stiles was never going move on with life. He went to a local school, didn't talk to too many people, and was already clinging. Two months later, he settled and life seemed to fall into place for him.

And Derek couldn't instinctively feel happy that his friend managed to get everything he deserved? All he could do was feel bitter and…fucking jealous. Of Stiles! All he could think of were the two years of his life he wasted somewhere he didn't want to be, with people he didn't want to see, doing something he didn't want to do. But, when he thought of what else he could do. What else he would have possibly done, he couldn't come up with an answer. Just a numb sensation that every fork in the road converged to dump him right where he was at the end of the day.

He had no right to be bitter. Derek had his own perfect life. Derek was _that guy_ in college. The one who could juggle it all, girlfriend, major, papers, exams, work, sports, social life and still have time to sleep in on Saturdays. But…it was all shit. Everything Derek ever did since leaving home felt mechanical and off. He thought going home would erase that sensation, but when he turned around, there was nowhere to go back to. Sure, only a few buildings changed; shops, houses, and people the same. But it wasn't the same. It was all alien to him now. His father was never home. His sister Cora was never the same. And his house had turned into some other woman's Home Improvement project. He was missing nothing, and had no roots to settle into. How?

 _I'm empty!_ He wanted to scream. _I'm FUCKING empty!_

The words didn't come out of his mouth.

They _wouldn't_ come out.

He didn't deserve to say them because they weren't true. He had everything. He sat and glowered, studying the features of Stiles' face. He traced the moles across his cheek in his mind to form their own constellations. He studied the hazy color of his brown eyes in the dark, tracing out the strands of color in his mind until Stiles looked down again. Derek had everything….

Drunk. He still had to be drunk. None of his thoughts made any sense.

"You're being dramatic," Derek said aloud.

Stiles' shoulders sank, a look of hope slipping away into clear disappointment. Derek frowned at that look. It wasn't the one he wanted from Stiles.

"Listen, Derek—"

A ringtone cut the air between them. What had been little more than whispers and soft conversation was gone as Stiles dug into his back pocket for his phone. He read the caller ID and his eyes suddenly went wide.

"Shit, Isaac!" Stiles was already shrugging on his coat and fumbling for keys. Before he walked out the door, Derek could hear Stile's ramble into the phone, "Sorry. Sorry. I'm coming back. Something came up and I just had to do a thing. I'll explain when I get there. It's a—"

And the door chose to close at that moment.

Derek expected the next few words would have been something along the lines of _shit show._ Derek pulled out his phone and lit up the screen. Ten new messages waited for him since this morning.

Might as well respond to Kate.


End file.
